The morning of Saturday August 20 my nine-year-old son mowed our lawn. It was just his second time. Even though Mum was in hospital — like she’d so often been in the past two years — we had no idea at that time what would take place in the early afternoon.
With the lawns mowed, I was writing a card for my 30-year-old daughter for her birthday. I got to the word “of” and my phone rang. It was Dad, and he was quite frantic for Mum, so I immediately picked up my keys, the card and a pen, and left for the trip to the hospital.
As we got Mum more settled, we still had no idea how the next week would unfold. The next Saturday, Mum died. Only on the Monday (22nd) did we get our first hint of that most odious of phrases, “palliative care.” On the 25th, we had that palliative care “chat,” and, just before Midday, on the 27th Mum was gone.
It will be one of those weeks that will be forever etched into my memory.
Having been with Mum and Dad for a couple of hours, I set off for my daughter’s 30th birthday. It was a great celebration, but a little sombre knowing that Mum was in hospital and Dad with her. We sure did reminisce over the past 30 years, and as my daughter reminds me, the days may be long, but the years are short. Those 30 years sure do seem to have flown by!
That last week with Mum and Dad in hospital felt like an eternity at the time, but as I look back every one of those key moments went like a flash. Those key moments that endure upon my memory include Mum impressing the physiotherapist and doctor at one point, and Mum being so chuffed she kissed the doctor on the cheek. Those moments include Mum’s delight for the ice cream dessert, not being able to stomach the other food. And, of course, there was the irrepressible smile that would cover Mum’s face whenever a family member arrived to be with her. She greeted each and every one with the same brimming joy as if they were the only person in the room as they entered and they embraced.
Each of these key moments, among some of the others that are private and just for the family, are scattered through a long week, but a week all the same that went all too quick.
When Mum passed away, we spent a lot of time together the week following preparing for Mum’s funeral. And since times there’s been a lot more time than normal devoted to all things family — losing Mum has been a defining event in our lives.
There’s no way you can anticipate how you’ll feel after you lose a loved one. It’s like you have no idea when one of your children is born how much they will change your life. And no matter how much you anticipate how much life will change, you never end up getting anywhere close to how it feels when the moment finally arrives. Mum’s loss leaves us with a feeling that’s astonishingly different to how we thought it might feel.
During the time that has passed between August 20 and September 30 when we next mowed the lawn, my wife, son and I had been on a road trip, part of which encapsulated visiting the town Mum grew up in, where she worked, and where she and Dad met and started dating 60 years and one month before she died.
So when September 30 arrived, even as I had been studying the growth of the lawn over the past six weeks, I took my time even rationalising that I didn’t really need to mow it. I could’ve left it another week or three. But I decided to cut it anyway and just to take some photographs of how much the lawn had grown in that time — a time that spanned moments we had no idea, to a time where we’ve carried Mum’s memory with us for seemingly so long now.
The difference in the level of the grass is significant. Loss, I find, separates time into the portion of time before the loss and the portion after the loss. There is an innocence in the time beforehand, before you have any idea what the cost of loss is.
Nothing prepares you for what you feel when you no longer have that person in your life. It’s like the one thing you can’t have you desperately want, and even though I know where Mum is, and I do have fond thoughts of seeing her again, it still feels so distant. And yet, amid all this is a peace that Mum leaves with all of us because of the person she was.
Never before and never since has the cutting of the grass been so significant. It’s amazing the potential of the banal moments of life when they become milestones.
Every moment I pushed that mower, Mum, I thought of you and your incredible sacrifices of love for each one of us in the family and your friends. Mum, your memory will live on and on. You were the mightiest of encouragers and gave us all a strength of a matriarch.
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